Author's
note: I acknowledge that the characters of the Tracys in this and
subsequent chapters were invented by Gerry Anderson and his team and
are now the copyright of Granada Ventures. I would like to thank
Purupuss for proofreading this and all the following sections, and
Sam and Lady Viva for providing background information for this
particular chapter.

Scott

"OK,
son, she's all yours. Good luck, now!"

My
instructor steps out of the cockpit and closes the door, leaving me
alone. It's my sixteenth birthday and I'm about to take my first
solo flight.

I glance
over to the side of the airfield where the cars are parked. Dad is
wearing his poker face but Virgil is giving me a thumbs up. Even from
this distance I can see the big smile on his face.

OK, here
we go. Brakes off. Check for approaching aircraft. Ease open the
throttle. I hear the note of the engine pick up as we start to move
down the runway. I keep one eye on the instruments and the other on
the runway as I gently ease back on the control yoke. The rumbling of
the wheels on the ground dies away as we lift off. We're airborne.
I've done it!

Calm down
now, Scott. This is no time for a happy dance. There's a lot more
to flying than just taking off. What is it the old hands say? That a
good pilot is the one with the same number of take-offs as landings.

I pull
back on the controls, gaining height as we clear the end of the
runway. Now if the engine stalls I would put down in the field
straight ahead. Never turn back, that's what they tell you. I sneak
a quick look back to the cars and people behind me, now looking very
small. I needn't have worried about the happy dance. Virgil's
doing it for me. I'm glad he could come today. The other kids all
had other things on, and Grandma was too nervous. She's at home,
probably polishing something. It's what she does when she's
worked up. The house will be gleaming by the time we get back.

I level
off now, glancing up at the sky above me. It's a perfect day for
flying, just some light cirrus clouds high above me, no problem
there. I'm not licensed to fly above cloud yet, not until I get my
instrument rating. That's my next goal. I've been training for
the last three months for today, doing my ground school and getting
the hours in my log book. Well, strictly speaking I've got a lot
more hours than that. Dad's been letting me handle the controls in
level flight ever since my legs grew long enough for my feet to reach
the pedals.

We're
coming up on the McAllister's grain silo now. Time to make a turn.
Ease round gently, feet playing across the rudder pedals. Now if we
stalled there's a cow pasture straight ahead.

I'm
amazed how quiet it is up here on my own. It feels completely
different from flying with Dad, or with my instructor. Apart from the
noise of the engine, there's nothing, just me and my thoughts. For
some reason I feel lighter, as if gravity is less up here, though I
know that's nonsense. This is where I belong. Is this how Gordon
feels about being in the water? No wonder he's always so keen to
get to his practice sessions. Right now I feel as if all the problems
I have, my schoolwork, the responsibility of keeping the kids in
line, the pressure of living up to the Tracy name, I've left them
back down on the ground. Dad can be a hard act to follow sometimes.
People seem to expect more of you if you're the son of a famous
astronaut, and a millionaire as well. But the sky doesn't care who
your father is. Up here the only rules you have to obey are the laws
of aerodynamics, nothing more. Up here it's just me, the plane and
the sky.

Now I'm
crossing the road to town. I make another course correction, feeling
the plane respond to my control. For a moment I dream that this isn't
a single engine Cessna, but the Air Force's most advanced jet which
I can throw across the sky by just moving a finger.

Later,
Scott, later. I've go to finish college and get through University
first. The air force will still be there. Coming up on the lake now,
which means its time for the next turn. Now I've got the airfield
ahead of me again. This flight has gone so quickly. I line up on the
runway and start to lose height, coming in on the glide path. The
windsock is hanging limp so there is no worry about cross winds, and
there's no other traffic around. I make a small course correction
and extend the flaps. We come lower – watch the speed! My
instructor's voice echoes in my ears, talking me down, but my hands
and feet seem to be moving almost without conscious thought, as if
I've been doing this for years. A rumbling from below tells me the
wheels have touched down, so I put the flaps on full We slow to a
halt and I look across to the cars. Virgil has his hands clasped
above his head in a victory salute, but it's Dad's face I'll
remember. He looks proud enough to burst.

I'm
home, though part of me feels that 'home' is now up in the skies.
I can't wait to get back there again.

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